Controlling Destiny
by DarkShadowsprite
Summary: A short memory recount of a man's first pet and the loss of it. Told to show the transformation a single event can have on a person's life, for better or for worse. Can destiny really be controlled? R&R One shot


**Disclaimer:** I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh! Or it's characters. 

So I as promised to another writer I am posting this as a reward for her updating her story. This is a one shot and fairly is only 4 and a half pages on word. I couldn't fully decide on just what genre to put it in so hopefully I put it in the right ones because that is how it is veiwed to me. I hope you enjoy it.

**Warning:** Somewhat graphic in discriptions, I'm posting as mature due to this. May be considered gorish so be ready if you plan on reading it because it is worth it's rating.

**Dedication:** To Taboo my cat. I'm sorry for your pain, you deserved better.

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People will say that you change based on whom you meet, but who you are also changes based on events in your life. Some might call it destiny or fate. Personally I think it's a bunch of bullshit but I didn't always think that way. There was a time where I was carefree and didn't think about events that happened in my life. If it happened it just did and there was nothing I could do about it. That naïve and idiotic way of thinking changed at a young age for me but if it hadn't I can't picture what I would be like today. 

I was three years old when I started my incessant pestering of my mother and father for a dog. They continually said no and at the time I just thought they were being mean. Later found out their reason for not wanting to get me a dog was because they were considering having another child. Whether it was due to my nagging or they decided not to have a baby for the time being they gave me a dog on my fourth birthday.

He was still a puppy but something seemed more mature about referring to him as a dog. I was delighted to have it and the first day spent the entire time brushing its fluffy golden hair and playing. I had myself a friend that no one else could have; he was my dog and no one else's. He followed me around which made me giddy inside; I fed, walked, groomed, and slept with him. Often when my parents weren't around he was my only companion and I grew very attached to the dog.

The feelings that my dog pulled from me was emotions I had never felt before. Feeling responsible and knowing that it's very life depended upon me was not only scary to a small child but gave me a sense of pride. He trusted me with his life and loved me with no restrictions, yet at anytime I could kick him out and away to his doom. I began to understand even at such a young age the way my parents felt about me. Why my mother had cried and yelled at me when I had hid outside at night, and why both of my parent's were so frantic to get me to the hospital when I cut myself on a knife trying to help mother wash the dishes.

Despite the things I was coming to learn I was still a child that didn't think things completely through. I'd forget to feed him thinking he can get it himself or not realizing that the cat down the road probably wouldn't like to play with my dog and his sharp teeth. It was only time before I made a mistake with a more bitter out come.

One day during the summer before my fifth birthday he went missing. I had let him outside to go to the bathroom. One of my favorite TV shows was on so instead of going out with him like I normally I did; I just let him run. I called and called until my voice went hoarse. My parent's continued looking for him but there was nothing.

Going to bed each night became heart breaking because he wasn't following me to bed or where I would find him when I woke in the morning. Each day I woke up praying to see him, but I didn't so then would cry realizing just how long he had been gone. We did everything to find him including having his picture broadcasted on the Television and radio. Everyone seemed to know him from seeing me walking him, but I was the last person to see him.

A week passed and then another, my belief I would find him edged away. My mother and father tried to act like there was still hope, still a chance, but I knew they believed him to be dead. I, myself desperately wanted to believe, and the child in me believed he was still alive. But I felt a sick knowing it wasn't possible. The only way to describe what I felt is the feeling a parent has when their child dies, almost like a sixth sense.

I cried a lot over those weeks and often screamed until I couldn't hear the silence in the house. No one ever knew I did these things because I hid them from sight. I never saw my father break like I had at that time and the thought of what he might think of a cry baby son was too much to bare. I'm not sure which emotion was greater, the loss and the unknowing or the shame I felt for feeling this way.

Three weeks later I went for a walk in the woods behind the house in the morning, as I often did with my Nanny. We would split up once in the woods and although we had searched the woods before, we continued to look. I have a suspicion it was my mother's doing. I think she knew that if I just sat around I would have no peace, so she left orders with my Nanny to take me out by any means, looking for my dog was just something they hoped would keep my hopes up.

As I came upon the small clearing I often sat in to play I saw a small lump on the ground. I was curious as to what I might be and walked up to it stupidly. Now closer to the view tears started to roll down my face and I didn't know why until I looked at its small face. It was a dead dog, my dog.

Part of me was surprised that I was able to recognize him at all due to the horrid condition he was in. His once golden hair was short, matted, and a brown-red color with a large spot muscle and fat exposed on his stomach. His soft brown eyes were fortunately closed but did little to make the sight bearable. His lips were gone for the most part exposing his teeth and reseeding gums. His once boisterous wagging tail was stripped of hair to the point that I could see each vertebra. His thin legs were bony and I could see through the tissue to the ground. My dog's size had changed dramatically. He had grown since I had gotten him but now he appeared the same size he was when I first laid eyes on him if not smaller.

The thought that I might throw up crossed my mind but my stomach wasn't upset. Instead of running I squatted in front of the animal and covered my face with my hands as I cried. I'd open my hands to look at him again disbelieving, wishing, and hoping that magically it would be something else – anything else. The face never changed and instead I became more sickly aware of the decay and missing features such as his ears. The sound of the flies and watching them buzz around my puppy's body made me dimly aware of the smell of death; my heart tightened within my chest. It was plainly my dog and my heart was bleeding for him but at the same time it didn't believe it was him.

I stared at the small red-brown face and could vaguely see what was once a white diamond on his forehead. Images flashed through my head of times I had see that face, clean and happy. The expression's he exposed when he'd beg or after I scolded him. I couldn't deny it anymore.

Finally I rose numbly and ran back to the house. Once in my room I screamed through my sobs. "I'm sorry!" I yelled intermixed with random yelps of his name. My face was soaked but I didn't even feel it. I felt as if I was blind, staggering around the house until I fell to my knees. I forced my trembling body to get up and somehow made it to my bedroom. There I let myself collapse onto my bed to eventually cry myself into an exhausted sleep.

When I woke my mother was sitting with me and the first thing I noticed about her was a tear-stained face; she had been crying. She explained my Nanny had found the dog and they buried him in the back. I was only able to muster a nod to this flood of meaningless information. She talked for a while; I'm not sure what she said, only that it was about the dog. I rolled over onto my back after she left the room and stared at the ceiling. The image of his small body flashed in my head and tears rolled yet again over my face, dripping to the pillow if not sliding down into my ears.

I tried to settle my thoughts and understand what had happened. He had been attacked by something that was apparent. But why hadn't we found him sooner? The image flashed in my mind again to reveal the dirt matted in the hair. It came to me that he had been buried after he was killed; a meal saved for later. Thinking of the fear and the pain that he must have been in before death released him from feeling anything, I began to choke on my muffled sobs. I grabbed a pillow and smashed it down on my face so my parents couldn't hear. In my head I asked myself why hadn't I gone with him? Why was he so weak? Why did he have to die and in so much pain? It was my fault he was dead. It was my fault he had been put in pain and it was my fault he had been scared. But it was his for being weak, letting another being control his life.

My dog's life was solely dependant on other's to care and protect him. He was helpless just as I was helpless to the world and by having him ripped from me. He had relied on me as I relied on my parents and on anyone in my life older than I to control what I did and how I thought. This aspect of realizing just how very small and powerless I was, was almost more frightful than the sight of my dog.

Although no one knew I grieved for my dog for months or that everything was brought back up on my birthday because all I could see was the memory of receiving him. Everywhere I went I was reminded of my dog and inside I cringed to keep from allowing myself to cry. It became that I was not just crying for my dog but for myself.

Not long after my mother became pregnant and I was anything but excited about the prospect of a sibling, but on July seventh that changed. It was a hard experience on my father, for the first time I saw him cry. I had a baby brother but I had lost my mother to him.

One night while my father and brother slept I crept into the nursery and peered into the crib. He was so tiny and so very helpless. The anger I had felt towards this baby for making my mother die melted away as I realized he would grow up to not have a mother. What would he have? Was the question that entered my mind. He had no mother, and our father was just too tired to support and be both parents.

It was then that I made a decision. My baby brother, my brother Mokuba would not have to fear anything nor worry about what might come next to push his life out of control, because I would be there for him. I would always be there for him and most of all I would protect him unlike I had my dog.

Little did I know how out of control our lives would become. We had about three years with our father before he was killed in an accident. Once again the world displayed its power over me and the bastard that had ran into my father got away without a scratch. Even though I was sad and very angry I hid it from my brother, I had to be strong for him, I was after all, all that he had left.

I had thought things might become easier living with relatives but that only proved to be a horrible experience. The selfish clods stole the money my father had left us and then dumped us off in that hellhole. Mokuba cried a lot during those days and I felt so helpless to make him feel better, but I did what I could with the very little power I had. It eventually came to where I had, had enough. I was sick of other people and so called fate from running my life. I promised Mokuba and myself that I would take care of him and keep him safe; it was time for me to step up and I got my chance.

Gozaburo was a fool and a perfect target. I knew that with all his money he would be able to give Mokuba everything he needed, and anything he asked of me was a small price to pay to keep Mokuba safe. I was determined to control my own life and I did it. Only a little after my Sixteenth birthday I grabbed up even more control.

Now I am no longer subject to other people's words or actions. I can do as I wish and no one can touch me, and most importantly Mokuba. I've –

"Excuse my Mr. Kaiba the company you were interested in is refusing to form an alliance with us."

"Why do you bother me with such mediocre problems Roland? You already know how to handle it," I reply evenly as I turn in my chair away from the window to face him.  
"Of course Sir. It's just that…do you think that it is really necessary?"

"If they refuse to work with us then they are an enemy, and all enemies are to be eliminated," I answer once again growing irritated.

"Yes of course Sir." He bows and leaved the room.

I turn back to the window and stare out at all the ant like people running around the streets, the fools that run here and there on the whims of other people. I am not one of them, instead I control them. The world has two places for people; you either control or are controlled.

I half smile to myself, the world tried to control me but I control it now. People talk of destiny as something prewritten in time but I create my own. The thought that I might have been one of those people sickens me. It's strange how such a helpless creature that couldn't do anything for anyone besides foolishly follow was the one to expose the truth to me. Perhaps that pathetic dog was good for something after all.

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Please Reveiw, all kinds are welcome and thank you for those that do.This story was based on actual events. 


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